


Saviour

by tearezi



Series: Saviour [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Death, Other, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearezi/pseuds/tearezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxas is having a hard time coping with Axel's death. Series of oneshots, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saviour

“Simple touches. That’s all it started out as. A hug here, a shoulder rub there. It escalated to a lasting touch on a cheek, or maybe a small kiss on the forehead. Little things, to prove that we were friends. It was what friends did, after all.  
“Maybe that’s when the romance started. Maybe it was later, after the two bottles of wine and gentle touches under the covers late at night. Murmured whispers of affection running deeper than the average friendship. Maybe waking up the next morning, wearing the bare minimum to negate sexual activity the night before in our anything-but-sober states was what shocked us both into thinking. However it happened, it happened.  
“We spent hours together, this time taking advantage of the blushes we shaded our faces with, of the nights we could spend with each other because his father kicked him out of the house for having a fair disregard for the finer sex. We lived together from then on, the stereotypical wifely duties falling to him, out of work like he was. I’d come home, tie loosened, and he’d be waiting in an apron, some sort of dinner either on the table or in the oven, smiling like it was Christmas all over again simply because I was home with him. He’d sit me down in a chair and get me water. He knew I never drank water. I didn’t have time. He had struggled with some sort of chronic dehydration as a teenager, and because of that, drank more water in a day than I thought was humanly possible. He was the perfect housewife, minus the ties of marriage. He didn’t care if I was too tired after work to keep up a conversation, or even if I fell asleep at the table. He’d just smile and pick me up, carry me to bed, place a goodnight kiss on my forehead. I’d wake up the next morning, fresh and happy. Even when the dark circles beneath his eyes grew to the colour of the inverted teardrop tattooes on his cheeks, he’d still smile every day. I was his light and he was my sun.  
“Even when the doctors told him about his disease, he smiled. I was the one with my eyes cast downwards, with my face wet with tears, and he shone like a ray of light, always, always. I couldn’t look at the doctors. Shaking with sobs, I cursed myself. I was supposed to be here supporting him. Why was I the one breaking down? I heard him ask how long he had. A cold voice, one trained to show as little emotion as possible, said, ‘A few months, maybe a year. We can’t figure out how to stop it. We’ve never seen anything this versatile. We need you to start checking in with us every week.’ He asked about some sort of chemotherapy. They said it would do nothing to help. I hadn’t heard the details of what would happen to him as the disease progressed, but I knew the generalities. It wasn’t pretty.  
“That night, I kissed him over and over, trying to tell him how much I loved him. Unable to do so. The tears cut everything off. He didn’t cry. Why didn’t he cry? Why was it always me who cried? Why was I the weak one? He comforted me like always that night, arms wrapped around me. By the time I fell asleep, his shirt was soaked through. It was a wonder to me that he didn’t push me off after the first hour. His arms must have fallen asleep by then. I laughed thickly, wondering why I was thinking of something so silly. I slept fitfully.  
“I loved him. But I couldn’t understand why he never cried. He was a smiler, bred and true. Even when he was in the hospital, hooked up to countless IVs and monitors, he smiled. Even when the hair that he loved me to play with so much fell out strand by strand, he smiled. It littered the floor of the hospital room, red on white tiles. Blood. That’s what it had always reminded me of.  
“Why was it him? Why not someone else? Nature loved experimenting on the man I loved, and she showed her violent and bitter nature in ways that made my stomach curl. He lost weight at an amazing pace, hardly able to keep up with food. They ended up putting a tube into his stomach and pinning him down to keep him from squirming when the pain got to be too much. As he shuddered and pulled against the padded restraints, I held his trembling hand in my own, whispering and stroking the bald head of my Axel. I told him it would be okay.  
“On good days, I would sit next to him and tell him all about the things that were happening on the outside world. And he’d smile like an idiot. Like always. One time, I snapped at him. I yelled and berated him, asking why he smiled all the time. It was hardly fitting in the situation, to smile. He said that he was smiling because he loved me. That was the first time that smile faltered. A tear slid out of the corner of his eye, and it made me hate the world. That was when I was sure that he was going to die.  
“I watched over him every night for two years. My love slowly withered away to almost nothing. The fat and muscle gone from his body, leaving skin and bones behind. I told myself every night that I had to stay there, beside him. That if I stayed, he would live until the morning. And it worked. Every night that I stayed, either curled next to him, holding his all-too-bony hands and wrists, or sleeping on a cot or couch next to him, always within touching distance.  
“One night away. That’s all it took. One night I got there too late. Have you ever stood in the doorway of a hospital room, staring as lights flash and beepers run non-stop? Have you shared a look of horror with a doctor? Have you ever been told, ‘I’m sorry’ like that before?  
“His funeral was on a Monday. Sunny. He always loved the sun. Said it reminded him of me. His grave was in a dip in the yard, nestled in the earth, set apart from the others. I knew that he loved this place. He used to bring me to this graveyard and smile, pointing at the earth. ‘I want to be buried here.’ I’d laugh, kiss his cheek softly, and say, ‘I’ll be buried right beside you, love.’ I never thought it would come so soon.  
“Not many people came to the funeral, and that was okay. Demyx sang. I cried. Everyone did. After we buried him, I stayed behind. I wanted to talk to him for what seemed to be the last time. ‘Axel?’ I swore he answered. ‘Axel, I’m sorry. I…I wasn’t there. I was too late. Axel.’ Tears. All right here, dripping down my face. I hated the taste of salt. Reminded me of sadness.  
“I couldn’t speak anymore as I walked forward to the grave. The earth still shone dark and dull, a bleak contrast to the grass around it. My Axel was under there. My Axel. Forever set apart from me by a short six feet, a short six feet that I’d never be able to bridge. He was gone forever, and the selfish bastard left me behind.”  
Roxas laughs then, a thick, short laugh. He reaches up and wipes his face, pushing away the tears that still form three years later. “I guess this is what I get for waiting this long to start my recovery process.” He chuckles to himself, but it doesn’t quite sound right. Namine reaches over and hands him a box of tissues. He sits up and accepts them gratefully, leaning back on the leather therapist’s chair in her office. “How long was I talking for?”  
Namine answers then. “A while. We have twenty minutes left on today’s session. Is there anything else you want to talk about? Or do you just want to hang out?”  
Roxas smiles. “I think I’m done talking for today.”  
Namine replies, “Okay. You know, Roxas, you’ve made some great progress since the first time I saw you. Has the therapy helped you at all?”  
“Yeah, I think so. I quit smoking, you know.”  
Namine smiles, a happy, genuine smile, but her eyebrows stay worried. “Oh, that’s great! I’m proud of you, Roxas.”  
He smiles, and they talk about life for the next twenty minutes. Roxas goes home and feels satisfied, and possibly happy for the first time in three years. For the first time since Axel died. His recovery will take time, and he knows it. But he’s on the path to a healthy life. For the first time in three years, he doesn’t dream.


	2. 179 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble about life without Axel.

It had been 179 days since Axel had died and Roxas was running out of options.

He had tried dating other people. He had tried forgetting. He had tried moving and going on trips and switching jobs and none of it had helped him cope with the loss of losing Axel, his Axel. He had pills and therapists and late-night sobfests that woke up the people in the apartment below him (although they would never mention it to the grieving blond), and he still felt the pain of his green-eyed fireball wherever he went.

It had been 179 days and Axel’s clothes were starting to lose their smell. Roxas had always brought them, packed them, whenever he went anywhere, in the hope that maybe his lovely, lovely redhead would jump out of the bushes and yell, “Surprise! That car didn’t hit me after all!” Then they would go to a beach and laugh and kiss and fuck but not fuck because they loved and so they would laugh and kiss and love and be loved and Roxas missed it so so very much.

Roxas flopped onto the bed that he and Axel had shared in the relationship that seemed so long ago and yet not long enough to heal him. He always slept on one side. He didn’t want to disturb Axel’s side of the bed, because if he was careful, he would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and catch the scent of Axel still lingering in between the sheets. He could imagine Axel’s breathing and Axel’s shifting under the covers and Axel sitting up and placing a hand on Roxas’ hip and asking what was wrong, and he could imagine Axel wrapping an arm around Roxas’ waist and pulling him close and kissing in between his shoulder blades and saying that he loved Roxas.

And Roxas missed all of this so much.

So, he pulled on a shirt of Axel’s, one that still smelled just like him, despite the weeks of wear, and he climbed into bed and fell asleep thinking about cologne and cigarettes and ashes and Axel.


End file.
